


The Ache of Want

by fairdeath



Series: The Ache Of Want [1]
Category: Game Grumps, Markiplier (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Communication, Crushes, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dating, Dirty Talk, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, Masturbating, Misunderstandings, Multi, Polyamorous Character, Polyamorous Pack, Polyamory, Polygrumps, Romance, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:39:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5223674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairdeath/pseuds/fairdeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, he continues doing what he loves, he continues going on failed dates with strangers and laughing the awkwardness off when his friends ask how the empty, silent dinners go, he continues distantly hoping for more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ache of Want

**Author's Note:**

> @Me congrats on finishing your first year of university!!! Time to get back into being Poly Grump trash.

If you asked Mark how he feels about his life and what he has, he would tell you that he’s happy – he’s got a successful career, millions of people who love and support him, including friends and family, and is financially stable. But underneath that… He gets lonely. He craves the touch of another human. He craves the feeling of being _in love_ and having someone to come home to, share his day with, to hold and share his strengths and weaknesses with. Sure, he has friends and roommates, but it’s not the same.

So he continues doing what he loves, he continues going on failed dates with strangers and laughing the awkwardness off when his friends ask how the empty, silent dates go, he continues distantly hoping for more.

He’s always loved Arin and Danny since he first met them – they’re two of his closest friends who are always supportive and not going to shy away from the closeness Mark loves in his relationships. He loves recording in the Grump Space, so the day he’s set to move his recording equipment all into his home is a daunting prospect – he won’t see Arin as much, and he’ll rarely see Dan, as busy as the guy is. It sucks, but recording at the Grump Space was never meant to be a permanent thing, he reminds himself.

It’s a warm and humid night in August when it happens. It’s early into the morning, he’s been trying to sleep for what seems like forever, but the fact that his air conditioner is broken and his fan clicks softly as it turns is constant enough to be annoy, but not constant enough to be ignored. His sweat sticks to his skin, his bare chest speckled with pink in the moonlit rays that beat against his skin. He drops a hand to his thigh to scratch at where the sweat of his skin tickles the hairs there, and is more than well aware of the shiver that runs up his spine, despite the Californian heat. His cock stirs against his thigh, head of his penis rubbing against the seam of his boxer-briefs.

A groan erupts from his throat, low and deep as he rolls his eyes. No point in trying to sleep for a while, then. Favouring his imagination over leaving his bed to retrieve his laptop, Mark settles on imagining the touch of a stockpile ‘perfect girl’, how soft her hands would feel on his skin, fingers crawling up his side where his own do now. Sighing at the touch softly, he imagines the curve of her breasts, the curl of her smirk as she looks down at hip from her place on his hips. His right hand slowly makes it way to his cock, palming at the budge hidden behind cotton. The groan that erupts from his throat is strained and filled with relief.

The mental image of the girl shimmies down his hips, hands pulling down his boxers as he does now, hands shaking with anticipation, fingers fumbling with fabric as he watches his cock, swollen and a violent red at the tip, fall against his stomach. Boxers against his knees, Mark walks his fingertips up his thigh, touch feather light and teasing. Once he reaches his cock, he drags a finger up the bulging vein on the underside, torturing himself. His moan of joy comes through his teeth, biting down on his bottom lip. He reaches the tip and thumbs at the slit there, pre-come starting to gather there. He wraps his hand, now slightly slick with his own come, around his shaft as he envisions the girl shimmying between his knees, her breasts bouncing with her movements, as she brings her face to his swollen cock. She holds his cock as he does now, leans forward and twirls her tongue around the head of his cock, dipping within the slit. Mark thumbs at the head of his cock once more with his right hand before continuing to stroke his cock, loser on the downstroke than the upstroke, head thrown back in ecstasy. The girl’s hair is shoulder length and brown, curls bouncing as her head bobs. Mark moans as he envisions it, and suddenly the stranger is no longer that – where an unknown girl was, his friend, Daniel Avidan, now sits.

It should scare him. It should shock him.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been so hard.

“Fuck, Mark,” he can nearly hear the words fall from Dan’s lips as he mouths at Mark’s cock, and Mark shudders at the idea of how Dan’s hot breath would feel against his cock, warm and wet. Mark whines at the image, shame flowing through him, making his cock throb harder as he fucks his fist, hips thrusting up into his hand. He imagines Dan taking his cock into his mouth, tongue pushing his cock against the roof of his warm, wet mouth, cheeks hollowing out as he swallows as much of Mark’s cock as he can, throat constricting around his cock.

“Fuck, look at him,” his brain supplies, and – oh, God – that’s Arin’s voice. “Look at how fucking hot he is for you right now,” he hears Arin’s voice, quiet but harsh, “look at how much of a slut he is for you.” Mark whines at the idea, and imagines himself looking down and seeing his cock pressed against the inside of Dan’s cheek, outline giving a shadow to his cheek. He sees Arin reach out and thread his fingers through Dan’s hair, forcing his head back to the base of Mark’s cock. He groans, throwing an arm across his eyes, right hand moving in a blur up and down his cock, hips jerking up, tightness building so, so close to the inevitable end.

His skin is sticky with sweat, his fan is clicking in front of him, and his arm is moving in a blur as he brings himself to the peak. He imagines Dan swallowing his cock, Arin fucking his own hand, one holding Dan’s hair and forcing him to swallow Mark’s cock, over and over. He imagines Dan humming against his cock, vibrations sending him into a frenzy, even as a made up idea.

He’s never come so hard in his life.

 

Walking into the Grump Space the next day, Mark feels an anxiety unfamiliar to feel in this building, mixed with the exhaustion he feels from staring at the ceiling in shock for several hours. He fumbles with his key, he trips on the edge of the rug, his hands shake as he pours himself a coffee, his hair is a mess from running his hands through it so much, and his chest is full of a lasting empty ache. As he places his mug next to his computer, a small amount spills from the cup to stain his desk, and he sighs in frustration. Mark lifts his hands to his face and groans into them, trying to wipe the agony away through his skin. 

The footsteps that follow his groan rekindle the flame of anxiety. He prays that it’s not Arin or Danny… or, God forbid, Suzy. He couldn’t look that beautiful women in the face after orgasming to the thought of her loving husband fucking his fist over Danny and him. He’s not so lucky as to be granted his prayer to come true. The sound of Danny’s laughter fills his ears, echoing through the hall, and if Dan is in the Grump Space, it’s more than likely that Arin is too, since Dan is so busy constantly.

“I swear to you, I’m not lying, Dan,” Mark hears Arin speak in his larger than life voice, charisma caressing Mark’s jaw and convincing him that what Arin says is true, despite not knowing anything other than the fact that he ‘isn’t lying’.

“Okay, geez, I believe you,” Dan complies, and Mark can almost hear Dan raising his hands in surrender, laughter and smile breaking the seriousness of his goal expression. Mark shakes his head, eyes wide as his mind races. He has to act natural, but he’s forgotten what their normal is. He’s forgotten what their relationship dynamic is and how to act around the two. He usually leans out of his room to say hello to the two, but doesn’t feel like it today. If he does, they’ll know by the dark circles around his eyes that he hasn’t slept, but if he doesn’t, they’ll know something’s wrong. He decides on the former; better to see he hasn’t slept than pester him about what’s wrong. He rubs at his face once more before sighing and standing. He squares his shoulders and practices a smile. Not only does he know it looks fake, but he can feel the strain of fake happiness weighing on him immediately. He walks to the door and wraps his hand around the knob, the same one that previously was wrapped around his cock in place of where his mind has put Dan’s. He shakes his head, pretending to ignore the image, and opens the door.

“Hey, guys!” he speaks, and it sounds so strained he wants to cry. “Recording today or business stuff?” Mark asks them. This is normal, he remembers. He often asks them what they’re in for so that he knows not to interrupt during the recording. His eyes meet Arin’s and his breath catches in his throat.

He’s fucking gorgeous.

How has Mark never fucking realized this? How has he, in the multiple years he’s known Arin, never noticed the sunshine of his smile, the silkiness of his hair, the way his facial hair frames his face, the expressiveness of his eyes, the way his shoulders are broad and muscular while his stomach and thighs are soft?

And, yeah, Mark loves Arin. He really does, but until now he’s always thought it more as an ‘I admire your talent and you’re a funny person’ kind of love. Some dumb action anime-esque bro love. But apparently, and if his dick and heart were personified, they would be laughing with arms crossed, he was wrong. He loves Arin like he loved all his previous romantic partners… but _more_.

“Oh, hey, what’s up, Mark?” he hears Danny ask distractedly. Mark breaks eye contact with Arin and looks at Dan, fearful of what might happen but scared to deny the inevitable. Dan is fiddling with his phone, long fingers caressing the screen as it scrolls and taps at the screen, shoulders relaxed and back leant against one of the support beams in the room.

And, goddamn, he understands all the comments on the NSP facebook posts now. He understands why people say they want to strangle Dan with their thighs, want to sexbang Sexbang. He’s fucking hot, too. He’s got his black, worn in leather jacket on, a grump shirt underneath, torn up jeans. His hair is a mess, as usual, but the mess of it makes Mark want to thread his fingers through it even more. His mouth is being worn by his teeth, lips chapped but still plump. His jaw could cut diamonds, it seems so sharp with the dark stubble peppered across the skin there that Mark wants to see if he could cut his lips on it should he kiss the skin there.

Mark’s going to fuck himself on Dan’s face (after he takes him on a sushi date and holds his hand).

His jaw go slack and eyes go wide as the thought fills his head. Blood rushes to his cheeks and crotch, and he focuses as much he can on minimizing the inflation of his cock. He’s so embarrassed, but so aroused, and he’s never been so confused in his life because the embarrassment just makes him _more aroused_.

“Th-thought I’d get ahead on some stuff,” Mark replies, voice quieter than he’d intended. He points his thumb in the general direction of his stuff in the room behind him. Dan nods, finally looking up to him, and he’s never seen a more gorgeous smile in his life. Arin nods in recognition as well, lifting his wrist to check the time.

“We’re gonna record for a while; wanna grab some lunch later? We were thinking sushi,” Arin asks him. A wave of shock flows through Mark’s body and he forces himself to speak.

“Yeah – I was thinking the same thing, actually,” he chokes out, and tries to swallow the lump in his throat. They agree on half one for lunch and go their separate ways; Arin and Danny head to their recording space while Mark goes back to his.

Truthfully, he wasn’t really planned to record today, but seeing as the coffee cradled in his hand is waking him up and his anxiety is turning into energy, he figures it’s the best way to pass the hours before his lunch date with Arin and Dan.

Not a date.

He sets up his recording equipment, opens up the newest horror game in his library, and begins recording. It starts out terribly. He fumbles his intro so much that he just decides to do the intro at the end once he returns to the main menu. As he starts the game, he opens a letter addressed to the character and begins reading, but begins to misread and trip over his words, and as he trips over the first sentence for a second time, the voice acting kicks in and reads it for him. He sighs, loud and annoyed because he is, but mostly because that’s what normal Mark would do, confused about his feelings or not. He continues on down a dark hallway, and feels the tension in the game rise, but keeps moving because that’s as most games work. A door in front of him slams shut, and it’s a cheap scar, but he jumps so much that his character looks to the sky and his head moves out of frame from the height of it. He sighs to himself, eyes closed in annoyance and disappointment, but continues on. It gradually gets easier, and he knows this recording is bogus and people will be able to tell something is off, but he needs something to focus on.

He forces himself to work through the next few hours. He quickly gave up on recording and is now editing all of the footage he can’t bear to look at. Mark is quickly moving from anxiety and confusion to self-hate, and knows it’s time to stop. He looks at the clock and sees it’s 1:28, and he figures that it’s close enough to half one. His earphones come off of his head and clank against his keyboard as he breathes a sigh of relief. Lifting his hands to his ears, he rubs at the cartilage, trying to return the blood flow there after so many hours of restricting it. Mark retrieves his phone, opening up his twitter to keep his account active. He replies to a tweet from Jack, one from Ken, and favourites a couple from fans while he walks to the fridge and grabs a bottle of water. He waits patiently for Dan and Arin to finish up their recording session quietly. He figures it won’t take more than five minutes, but after twenty he starts to get antsy.

He drifts towards their recording space and looks through the window, seeing them glaring at a 3DS within Dan’s grip. It shocks him; however, because they aren’t pressed together, sitting side by side. Dan has one leg running along the space where the cushions meet the back of the seat, and one relaxed over the edge with his foot on the floor, knees spread. Between them, Arin is curled up, back pressed to Dan’s chest, blanket thrown over his knees and Dan’s while Dan plays the game in front of Arin, arms wrapped around the man in front of him. They’re glaring at the screen in front of them, but their faces are relaxed and content, Dan’s chin resting on Arin’s shoulder. Mark longs for a relationship like that, and it kills him that these two have a friendship like it. The whole vision fills Mark with…

Ignoring it, he knocks on the door. They can cut him out if he interrupts anything important, but he really is getting quite jumpy just standing around. After he knocks, he hears a muffled, “yeah?” and opens the door softly.

“You guys okay? It’s almost 2,” he asks, genuine concern filling his face. Sure, they’ll run over schedule, but never when they have plans. It’s not in Dan’s character, and Arin has, over the course of Dan being his co-host and best friend, formed the same moral.  Arin looks up to Dan from his place against his chest with eyes full of question. Dan nods, and the two move to stand.

“Sorry, dude,” Arin speaks, voice coming slightly shot from the numerous hours of continual speaking, “we’re fuckin’ lost on this dungeon. I don’t remember what to do,” he confesses.

“Arin refuses to use a walkthrough,” Dan fills Mark in as he lifts his arms above his head and stretches, sliver of skin on his pale expanse of stomach attracting Mark’s eye. He wants to lick the trail of hair there, dark and thick against the milky tone of Dan’s soft skin. Mark, eyes looking everywhere but Dan, nods in understanding.

 

They take Arin’s car to lunch and it begins without a hitch. The trio walks in post-lunch rush, and there’s several men in suits, some families, and some teenagers sitting among the restaurant, zoned in on their meals and conversation. Mark almost wishes they weren’t following the social norm so he didn’t have so much of Arin’s and Dan’s attention focused on him. They find themselves in a booth, partially concealed from the others in the restaurant, as if it’s just them in the building, and it makes Mark sweat. Mark sits opposite the two, his heart beating as fast as his eyes look between the two, despite how he wishes neither of those were the case. They sit through food and conversation easier than Mark had anticipated; however, he’ll admit it is a little more stilted than the usual flow of their laughter filled conversation. If Dan and Arin notice, they don’t bring it to his attention.

They do; however, bring up the bags under his eyes and the way he bounces his leg under the table, giving their conversation an audible rhythm.

“You doin’ okay, Mark?” Dan asks, voice containing only worry for his friend. Dan moves his hand across the table between them and rests his hand over Mark’s, leaving him torn between pulling away like Dan’s touch burns and leaving his hand there. It’s a platonic touch – Dan is physical with his expression of emotions; it’s a known fact. Mark nods, feigning ignorance of his clear not-okayness.

“Nah, man, what’s up?” Arin reinforces, and Mark knows neither of them are buying it. “You’re shaking your leg like crazy,” and the fact that he reinforces his reinforcement means Mark has to tell them something. Arin’s foot bumps against Mark’s own before tapping his ankle, just above it, and resting against the ground again. Mark mutters an apology and shifts his feet beneath his seat. A look of disappointment flashes across Arin’s face before he covers it up with his previous concern.

“Just having a day, I guess?” Mark supplies, and yeah, it’s true. He is having one of those days, but it’s because he’s realizing his love for these two amazing guys is a little less than platonic. “I’ll be fine,” he promises, waving off their worry for him with a few words. The conversation continues, but still holds part of Mark’s off attitude in the lime light, he can tell. Arin keeps bumping his feet against Mark’s, while Dan’s eyes barely leave Mark’s face and hands.

Time seems to go on forever, while simultaneously passing them like light. Mark is focusing on not accidentally mentioning the fact that he came to the thought of them both earlier that day, and it makes every sentence drag on, but too soon, they stand to leave. As they approach the register, Mark is calculating his split of the food and the tip off the top of his head, but by the time he’s pulled his wallet from his back pocket, Dan is already gripping his wrist.

“We’ve got it, dude,” he promises, and the earnest smile he gives Mark makes every doubt, worry, and fear leave him for the duration of it. He nods softly before thanking them, and it’s fair; they shout each other meals back and forth often. Danny grins at him and they continue to pay the bill, Arin and Dan splitting everything 50/50, grins on their faces. Admittedly, Mark feels a lot better having been out and having real conversation, rather than wallowing in his confusion, even if the source of these things was who the conversation was with.

They’re walking into the Grump Space when Arin ends up next to Mark, matching the others pace. Mark’s ears perk up as he listens to Arin with a slight shock.

“Thanks for hanging out,” Arin speaks, “We should do this again.” He punctuates this by wrapping an arm around Mark’s shoulder, and it feels oddly comforting as he’s kept safe by Arin’s strong but soft arm. It feels like he could hold Mark bridal style, and his heart flutters.

“Yeah, man,” Mark agrees, praying his blush isn’t as evident as it feels. “We should do this more often,” his voice comes as he looks at the sun, rays dancing across the clouds in the Californian sky in the late afternoon. “Maybe you’ll let me on Grumpcade again so I can beat your ass,” he jokes, smirking like a Cheshire cat.  He hears Arin’s breath come shaky and he waits for the laughter, but it doesn’t come.

“Careful,” Dan calls from ahead of them, “he might like it,” and Mark doesn’t have to force the laughter (as he saves that information in his Wank Bank, unbeknownst to himself).

 

Three weeks goes by and there’s a couple of things Mark has realized since that hot night in August. One of these things is that acceptance makes life a hell of a lot easier. The day he accepted his feelings for Arin and Dan are more romantic than previously assumed to be, his sleep came to him almost like it was waiting for him to realize. That was the other thing he realized. He kind of, sort of, maybe loves both Arin _and_ Dan, and has done for a _long_ time. The day he realized that, his dreams turned to first person romance movies starring himself, Dan, and Arin doing terribly mundane, domestic activities – almost as if his mind was making up for lost time, and, boy, is there a lot of it.

In those three weeks, he’s also spent an increased amount of time with the two; the trio had gone to the movies twice, and the older men refused to let Mark pay either time. The first time, they’d seen an action movie with unnecessary slow motion explosions, and Mark was so encapsulated he hadn’t noticed Arin’s arm across the back of his chair or his fingers intertwined with Dan’s until they’d stood to leave. The second, they saw a movie that looked good, but had been a case of, “the trailer is the movie,” and Mark had ended up taking a nap, head lolling to rest on Dan’s shoulder, hair tickling his ear, and legs thrown over Arin’s lap, the embodiment of a pillow relaxing into the protrusion of personal space. Then the Grump men asked Mark to dinner once a week, and they always went to places with booths, and again, didn’t let Mark pay, despite his complaints. Mark’s feet would get in the way of Arin’s and Dan’s own, and when he pulled his feet away, he was met with a flash of disappointment from both of them.

“We asked you, so it’s only fair that we pay, you doof,” Arin had said as Dan forked out far too many twenty dollar bills for the three of them one night. “You’ll get it when you ask us out to dinner,” Arin compromises, “it’s fine,” and ruffles Mark’s hair as he says this. Mark’s heart jumps in his throat, his palms sweaty. He nods, rubbing his palms across the textured pattern of his jean seams to rid them of the show of nervousness.

 

It’s a one of the cooler weeks of November when Mark is lying in bed, last of the day’s sunlight flittering through the blinds behind his bed, rays of dissipated light caressing the curve of his spine and the broad expanse of muscle on his shoulders as flicks through his phone. His fingers move deftly across the keys on the screen of his phone, replying to a tweet from a fan, when it vibrates and chimes accordingly. He doesn’t remember changing Arin’s name in his phone, but there it is, in black and white.

**Arin Handsome**

**Hey, Dan and I were gonna go watch the stars tonight out at this place he described as “make out field” he saw a couple weeks ago when he was out of town. You in?**

He shoots back a quick confirmation – he loves stars, and the smog of LA doesn’t make the sky glitter like he loves. Mark laughs softly at the description Dan had given the place. It would be nice to leave town, even just for a little while. Arin responds near immediately to his confirmation, and it sends a wave of butterflies through Mark.

**Arin Handsome**

**We’ll pick you up at 8!**

An hour and a half had never gone by so slowly. He passes it by showering, spending at least five minutes telling his cock to just give him _one fucking day_ where it doesn’t perk up at the thought of spending time with Arin and Dan.

Eight o’clock arrives not a moment too soon, Arin and Dan both at Mark’s door exactly on eight. The sound of the bell rings sharp and painfully through the house, Mark still tying the laces on his Nikes. He jumps slightly, and hurriedly ties the pair off before greeting the two at the door, wallet, phone, and keys already hastily shoved in his pockets.

He feels underdressed in his acid washed jeans and sneakers, despite the fact that the two are dressed no differently than usual. Their auras are so confident, so cheery, that Mark takes a second to resort his perception of the two.

“Hi,” he finally breathes, eyes flickering between the two men in front of him. They chuckle in response and reply with social normalities before walking Mark to the car.

“You know you didn’t have to get out of the car, right?” Mark asks, taking the front seat with Arin after a silent selflessness battle with Dan. “You could have just texted me and I could’ve saved you from getting out,” he reminds them, not wanting to cause a fuss when he was only recently added to the duo’s plans.

Dan shakes his head, and Arin tells him, “obviously, but we wanted to,” and they drive off, Dan behind Arin and Mark’s confusion sitting directly in front of his line of sight.

It takes an hour to get there, Arin tells him. Mark nodded softly, and buried himself into the chair – God, these seats are like sitting on a plethora of pillow – before settling into the conversation.

As the drive begins to drag on, the conversation begins to lull. At some point, Mark had twisted slightly in his seat as to see both Arin and Dan without risking jarring his neck. It’s at this point, when the lights of passing cars illuminates the interior of the car momentarily in small bursts, that Mark sees Dan’s hand tangled into Arin’s hair, scratching in no particular pattern across the scalp.

“Y’okay there, Dan?” Mark asks, smile lacing his words as he thinks, _ha, caught you._ Dan nods slowly, fingers unhesitating as they continue their ministrations.

“Man, it feels amazing,” Arin informs him, “you gotta let Dan get his hands on you.” Mark flushes near immediately, and feels he must look like he’s been taken straight out of a Studio Ghibli film – Hair standing on end, face straight lined, clothing taut, whole face painted red.

“Y-yeah, okay,” he stammers, and it’s unconvincingly unhesitant even to his own ears, “do your worst.”

At the verbal confirmation of consent, Dan’s hand falls from Arin’s mane to his lap before he moves across the seats and clips he safety belt in once more. Mark’s breath catches in anticipation before it comes from him in a slow, strong rush when he feels the soft but certain grip of Dan’s hand threading his fingers through his thick locks. He begins to work his fingers in a slow, feather light touch pattern before coming to tangle in the fading pink atop his head. His eyes fall closed with the feeling of security Dan’s hands give him, head falling back slightly. A moan of appreciation falls from somewhere deep in his throat and through his lips.

“Right?!” Arin exclaims in response to Mark’s vocal thanks. His eyes shoot open, not realising his adoration for the man’s touch had become verbal.  “It’s like Dan’s got the hands of a devil – amazing at what they do, and ridiculously hot,” and Mark isn’t sure if Arin is speaking literally or attractively because, fuck, Dan’s hands are as warm as a cup of coffee during a cold February morning (and he’d be lying if he said that Dan’s hands weren’t attractive, huge thumbs and all).

When Arin finally puts the car in park and turns the engine off, Mark is only vaguely aware of his surroundings, Dan’s hands having sent him into the type of bliss that comes from being on the edge of sleep. He opens his eyes and is faced with a field of soft, glistening grass for what seems like forever, trees lining the path that circles the infinite ground. Arin pulls a blanket from the back of the car before coming to Mark’s door, opening it for the man who stares out in awe. He stands out of the car, mouth agape as he takes in the sight around him, before he sky captures his attention. He can’t remember when the stars looked so beautiful. If he could see himself, he would see the adoration written on his features, the sparkle in his eye – partly from the twinkling stars above him, partly from his adoration of the immensity of it all.

Dan throws an arm over Mark’s shoulders and leans against him, sharing his own joy with the shorter one. “C’mon man,” Dan tells him, “you can’t just stand by the car all night.” Mark tears his gaze away from the glitter of the sky to see the glitter of Dan’s eyes, smile lines dragging his attention to the warm embrace of his attention. A minute wave of heat passes through Mark, the warmth settling in his bones like the centre of a marshmallow over the flames of a fire in a late summer evening. He nods slowly, willing himself to look at something other than the beautiful sight next to him or above him.

They watch the stars for what feels like hours before any of them say anything, the silence of their voices filled with the soft winds, the crickets, the birds that refuse to sleep. Somehow, as Mark sits with legs outstretched, hands pressed behind him to support his torso, Dan has found his way to lie on his back, head resting on the meat of Arin’s thigh, Arin’s hand woven into the locks. He pretends it doesn’t affect him… but, God, does it. Mark is jealous. He wants that. He wants that with _them_.

He feels Arin’s hand knock against his own. Mark pulls it away like he’s touched a burning flame, and although it doesn’t hurt, the contact sends a wave of electricity up his arm.

“Sorry,” Mark mumbles, eyes flickering from the stars and their glow, to the trees in the distance, to the city lights in the distance, to Arin’s feet, to his own. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Arin’s look of confusion before the small huff.

“Just let me hold your hand, dude,” Arin demands, but… it’s less of a demand and more of a plea. Arin reaches out for Mark’s hand, still the same distance away as before they’d bumped hands, but now six inches closer to Mark.

Arin intertwines his hand with Mark’s.

Oh my God. Oh my _God_. Arin is holding his hand, and he suddenly feels his palms start to sweat with nervousness, and he feels his breath catch in his throat, and he feels his stomach flips, and he feels his face flush, and _he’s holding Arin’s hand_. And more importantly _Arin initiated it._

He closes his eyes, forces himself to feel the moon’s light bathe his face while the cool air caresses his cheeks, takes a breath of crisp air, tells himself to not look into it too much. They’re just holding hands. Girls do it all the time together, right? So why can’t two men?

Perhaps it’s because he feels such an intense romantic attraction to these men, one smiling softly at the stars, the other with a soft pink dusting his cheeks, looking at the hands between them.

They sit like that for what feels like hours, but maybe it’s only minutes. Danny’s head rests on the plush pillow of Arin’s thigh, Arin’s right hand in his hair, Arin’s left in Mark’s right. They watch the stars, Mark points out constellations, Danny makes bad jokes, and they laugh. Dan’s half way through an anecdote, hands moving to form extreme gesticulators and illustrators, and Arin is captivated, hand still intertwined with Mark’s. As Arin nods enthusiastically, his thumb moves back and forth across the back of Mark’s hand where their skin meets. Mark breathes in the moment, swallows his surroundings.

His hair tickles the top of his ear, his glasses have a smudge so centred that his brain is ignoring the spot, his shoes are too new and he can feel the oncoming blister on his heel, the tip of his nose is cold, and his cheeks are a contrasting warmth. The two men surrounding him breathe comfort to him. Arin is a rock for him. He grounds Mark and reminds him to keep his feet on the ground and that he’s human and can live, that he’s here in this moment and _he’s alive_. Dan is the wind and the sky; he makes Mark feel like he’s flying. He makes Mark feel like he can touch the stars and soar through the clouds and feel the ice cold, sky high air against his face, that he can experience so many wonderful things with these two, and that he’s allowed to live in the moment and that _he’s alive_.

He’s _alive_.

That’s why he swallows sharply and steels himself. He brings the hand that was supporting his torso from behind him and moves to sit cross-legged. His eyes jump from Arin’s curious expression to Dan’s equally confused one. One final breath in and Mark cups Arin’s jaw in his hand and dives in.

He’s cinnamon and the first sip of coffee in the morning and macadamias and icing sugar and pancakes and fresh cut grass and the sand between your toes after a too-long winter. He tastes like iced tea and watermelon. He feels like summer skin and the push and pull of the ocean in late spring.

He pulls away.

“Took you long enough, Fischbach,” Arin complains, but his face holds the smile of a man who just won the lottery. Arin’s face is a mixture of shock, happiness, and bliss. Mark blinks, eyes wide in anticipation of what’s to come. At some point, Dan had sat up, presumably to avoid the line of fire between the two of you.

“Dan, look at me,” Mark breathes, last of his courage riding out the second wind very quickly. Dan responds like a golden retriever, hair bouncing with the ferocity at which he moves. Mark reaches out, eyes glued to the centre of Dan’s shirt, and grabs a handful of the fabric between his fingers. He pulls his hand from Arin’s own, curving his fingers around the back of Dan’s neck, long fingers threading themselves through thick locks. Mark swallows thickly around the nervous lump in his throat. Dan waits. He doesn’t pull away, tell him he’s ruining their dynamic. He just waits – lets Mark take his time.

He takes the plunge.

Dan is whiskey and nutmeg and cloves and allspice and pine trees and the summer sun against cool skin. He’s the embrace of the ocean’s soft waves in the early mornings in May, and the kiss of ice water after hard work. He tastes like cocoa and strawberries, like soda floats in late spring with friends around a fire. He feels like a warm blanket in winter and the new CD from your favourite band.

“Fucking – finally,” Dan murmurs, pulling just far enough away to breathe the words into Mark’s mouth, syllables punctuated with presses of lips against lips. The older man’s smile doesn’t escape Mark, and Mark doesn’t let him escape either. Mark breaks their string of kisses, leaning back, but still holds Dan close with the hand threaded into curled locks while the hand that crumpled Dan’s shirt reaches out blindly for Arin.

“Thought you weren’t in to us,” Arin tells Mark, and his confusion isn’t missed. “All of these dates and, until now, you’ve been so platonic I thought maybe we’d misread,” Arin continues. Mark drops his grip on the fabric of Arin’s shirt and removes his hand from Dan.

“These…,” Mark begins, slowly, hands threatening to shake, “all the times we’ve hung out lately,” oh, God, he’s going to throw up, “the dinners, the movies, th-this…,” Mark feels the tingle in his nose that warns of soon-to-be tears, and isn’t that manly? “These were dates?”

He feels like an idiot.

Dan’s rested the side of his hand against Mark’s during so many dinners.  Arin’s feet knocking against his too many times under the table. Dan’s soft smiles when he refused to let Mark pay. Arin’s arm around his shoulders in the theatre. They… They were trying to play footsies, hold his hand without pressuring him, _paying for his meal after asking him to hang out_ and using the goddamn _yawning trick_.

He’d known that Suzy was accepting and that Arin and Dan had something special between them, but, God, had he been off. As in he was on fucking Mars and Dan and Arin were asking him on dates on the surface of Pluto.

“I described this place to you as ‘Make Out Field’ and you _didn’t_ think this was a date?” Arin asked, his turn for confusion to be written across his face. Mark brought his hands to his face and covered them in embarrassment. He missed _all_ of the cliché signs.

Dan’s laugh, even when he’s laughing at Mark, sounds like a symphony of angels playing a thousand harps at once. Arin’s is like said angels heard that Mark missed _every fucking sign on the surface of the sun_ that Arin and Dan had asked, and taken Mark on  _fucking dates._

It’s the start of something wonderful, Mark thinks, embarrassment aside. He’s got not one, but _two_ of the most talented, hilarious, caring men that apparently want to date him, too, and a view of the stars the rivals the beautiful of the men laughing at his idiocy.

The start of something wonderful, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to include an actual scene of them all fucking but it seemed better to end it here??? Let me know if you want that actual scene though and I will provide.


End file.
